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2004-07-31T02:56:00.000-07:00

Marigold, Part 22 by Vulgar Argot (tags moved to bottom for spoilerage)

Thule called Matika back once he was on the road, "Can you talk?"

"Yes," said Matika, "I'm headed to Mannsborough right now."

"What do you know?" Thule asked.

"Not much," said Matika, "Jake called me on my cell. Apparently, Randy
and Ivan had some kind of fight about Mrs. Vandevoort. Randy left and
came back with a gun. Randy shot Ivan. Jake shot Randy. At some point,
Randy shot Jake. It's all very confusing."

"Is anyone dead?" asked Thule.

"No one was when Jake called me," said Matika, "Jake's wound was
superficial. He thinks he hit Randy in the stomach. There's some sort of
private ambulance up at the estate right now. Jake said there was a lot of
blood and Ivan was unconscious by the time the doctor got there."

"Where's Randy?" asked Jake.

"He slipped out in the confusion," said Matika. There are security
teams all over the woods, looking for him.

Something clicked in Thule's mind, "Are you saying that the police don't
know anything about this?"

"Right," said Matika, "They're trying to handle it all privately right
now."

"Matika," said Thule as calmly as he could, "how soon will you be in
Mannsborough?"

"Fifteen more minutes," said Matika.

"I need you to go up to the estate and see if there are any local police
cars up there," said Thule, "Just because they didn't go through official
channels doesn't mean that the police don't know. Start calling the team.
We need to move on this thing tonight if it's going to happen before Vladi
becomes too suspicious to play along."

"Thule," said Matika quietly, "there is no team anymore. In order for
Anne to get the indictments, we had to make an accounting to the higher
ups. We're all on pending administrative action. Only I'm still authorized
to have anything to do with this investigation. If any of the others get
involved, they'll be kicked out of the Bureau for sure."

"Fuck," growled Thule, "the Bureau thinks that this investigation only
merits one agent?"

"No," said Matika, "they've assigned a team. My partner Anders is
leading it. Before you say anything, Thule, he's a good man. He didn't
want to believe the rumors about the Vandevoorts, but when the evidence was
there for him to see, it made him sick. He's got nearly twenty years of
experience in the field. Please, listen to what he has to say."

"Fine," said Thule, "tell him to get to my house. We have to move on
this."

"Thule," said Matika, "he's called off the sting we set up. He wants to
go about it a different way."

Thule gave an incoherent growl of frustration, "Tell him if he wants my
fucking cooperation, he's to be at my house by eight pm. I'll listen to
what he has to say. But, if I don't like it, I'm going through with this,
with or without the FBI's help."

"Thule, I..."

"Just tell him," growled Thule, "eight pm." He snapped his phone shut.

Thule fumed for a few minutes as he drove. Marigold said, "That didn't
sound good."

"It was one of the disaster scenarios I played in my head when I had to
decide at what point to go to the FBI," said Thule. "So, it's not entirely
a surprise."

"What exactly happened?" asked Dawn.

"The FBI decided to send in a professional to take over this case," said
Thule, "He apparently does not care for my plan for tomorrow."

"What does he propose instead?" asked Marigold.

"I have no idea," said Thule, the anger in his voice barely contained,
"He didn't bother to ask my opinion, find out why I made the plans I did,
or secure my cooperation. "

"Maybe you should try to look at it from his perspective," said Dawn
quietly, "He's an experienced FBI field agent. He doesn't know you, except
that you're some high school kid playing in his sandbox. Why would he
consult you?"

Thule bit back an angry retort, looking at Dawn's face in the rear-view
mirror. She looked like she was ready to be hit or screamed at for
speaking up. He took a deep breath and counted to five before speaking.

"I'll give him a chance to explain his perspective," said Thule evenly,
"But his actions so far suggest that he's not going to give me the same
chance. I've been preparing for this over the last four years. I doubt
he's been privvy to it for four days. He's making a mistake if he thinks I
have nothing to contribute."

"You sound mad," observed Dawn.

Thule sighed, "I thought I was doing a pretty good job of not sounding
mad."

Dawn shook her head, "You sounded like you were trying not to sound mad
and not doing a very good job of it. That's even scarier."

Thule took another deep breath, "Sorry," he said, "I need to not make
any decisions when I'm that angry. That's how really awful mistakes get
made. Thank you, Dawn."

"So," asked Dawn, "if you have to do this without the FBI, does that
mean I can help?"

Thule winced, "Not if I can help it."

"Help with what?" asked Marigold, "What is your plan for tomorrow
anyway?"

Thule sighed. He'd held off telling Marigold his plan this long and
hoped to not have to explain it to her until it was completed, "I need to
know where Vladi put June Kane's body. I suspect that there will be more
bodies there. Mannsborough High has had an unusually high suicide and
runaway rate over the last four years."

He took a deep breath before going on, "I've been over a hundred
scenarios in my head for this. They all require a corpse. Since neither
Randy or Vladi has invited me into their confidence regarding victim
disposal and I'd rather not wait until they do, I need to produce one. I
could try to get a real one, but I don't even want to think about what sort
of response I would get if I tried to acquire a corpse young, fresh, and
pretty enough to fool Vladi. I toyed with the idea of actually killing
Brianne. But, what I ultimately came up with was this..."

Thule took another deep breath before committing to say it, "The plan is
to take Matika, have her soak in a bathtub full of ice to bring down her
body temperature, then make her up with blue body paint, lipstick, the
works, wrap her in a plastic tarp, put her in the trunk and call Vladi over
to help me get rid of her. He'll lead me to where he disposes of bodies.
Once I know where that is, I can call in the cavalry."

"But, Thule," asked Marigold, "Vladi's not going to just stand there
while you call for support, is he?"

"No," said Thule, "I'm going to have to kill or incapacitate Vladi."

"So," asked Marigold slowly, "if Matika won't do it, you're going to use
Dawn?"

No one spoke. Despite the early summer warmth, Thule felt a chill.

Finally, Marigold looked up at him, "Are you sure you couldn't just kill
Brianne?"

"Mari," said Dawn, "please don't pull rank on me here. I keep..."

Marigold shook her head, "As appealing as the idea is, I'm terrified of
enclosed spaces. I would have a screaming fit if someone put me in a
trunk." Suddenly, and idea dawned on her, "Unless you could chloroform me."

"It wouldn't work," said Thule, "I need whoever is in there to be able
to hold their breath when I show them to Vladi. Breathing would be a dead
giveaway that you're not...you know, dead."

Thule's phone rang. A glance at Caller ID told him it was Matika.

"There are no police cars up at the estate," she said, "What should I do
next?"

"Shouldn't you ask your partner?" asked Thule.

"He's in transit," said Matika, "He told me to sit tight."

Thule sighed, partly in relief, "Keep watching the estate. I need to
know if they're going to call Vladi or one of their other cops in."

"I'm not sure I can do that," said Matika, "I drove past once, but
they've got a ton of guys watching the front gate. I can't just sit across
the street and, if I drive by too many times, they're going to figure it
out."

"How are you at climbing trees?" Thule asked.

"Actually, I used to be quite the tomboy," said Matika.

Thule explained how to get into his house, where to find the required
surveillance equipment, and where his fake duck blind was.

"Thule," said Matika, "I want you to listen to what Anders has to say.
He has a lot of experience. But, if you're still determined to go through
with this, I'm in. But, it may mean the difference between whether or not
I have a job when this is all done. So, please listen to him."

"All right," said Thule, "I'll listen. But, I can't make any promises."

-=-

As they pulled into his neighborhood, Thule said, "Dawn, lie down."

Dawn did, "Not ashamed of me, are you?"

"No," said Thule. "Marigold, take my cell phone off of my belt and hand
it to Dawn. Dawn, dial up the number for Matika stored there. Tell her to
get to the house as quickly as possible. I'm pretty sure we just passed
Randy's car in the woods back there."

Dawn dialed and listened, "No answer. It went to voice mail."

"Shit," said Thule, "try again."

"Still no answer," said Dawn.

"Leave a message," said Thule, "Then, call Anne. Tell her to get a hold
of Anders and tell him what's going on."

As Thule pulled into his garage, he reached into the glove compartment,
pulled out the pistol, and said, "We have a couple of minutes at least.
Act as natural as possible. Remember. We're not even supposed to know
that Randy has been shot. We've been out of town and out of touch all
weekend."

"What do you think he wants?" Marigold asked.

"I don't know," said Thule, "but I don't like any of the options."

Inside, Thule said, "If anybody starts shooting, I want you two to get
out of there as fast as possible. Run for the woods and don't look back.
Call the FBI field office and Jonas. You'll want to stay and help, but
you're not going to be much help if he decides to shoot you."

The knock came at the door. Thule said, "Get to the back door."
Marigold and Dawn stood motionless, so he added emphatically, "Go. If he
starts shooting and you don't bolt like a couple of rabbits, I'll..." he
sighed, "Just make sure you run."

Marigold and Dawn walked to the back door, watching as Thule drew his
pistol and went to the front door. Standing to the side, he opened it.

"Dule," said Svetlana, "you have to help Randy. He's been shot."

She was barely holding Randy up over her shoulder. He seemed barely
conscious, but held a sleek, black handgun firmly. He was wearing a gray
sweatshirt, soaked through with blood. Her own cream-colored blouse and
blue jeans were smeared with it.

Thule took Randy over his own shoulder, "Marigold," he said, "there's a
big first aid kit under my father's bed. Get it. Dawn, call 911. He
needs a doctor."

"No 911," said Randy, "and no doctors. I'm fucked up pretty bad, but
I'll live if I can get this damned hunk of lead out of me."

"There's a lot of blood," said Thule, laying Randy down on his bed, "You
really should see a doctor."

Randy laughed, wincing as he did, "I need to keep this quiet, Thule.
This isn't the first time Vandevoorts have shot each other. I just need to
get patched up and get to Amsterdam before this thing blows up. I
have...allies in the family there." He winced, "At least, as much as
Vandevoorts have other Vandevoorts as allies."

As he spoke, Marigold had cut away his shirt and was examining the wound
with a small flashlight. Randy looked down at her, "Marigold, would you
excuse us?"

"I need to get this bullet out," said Marigold.

"It's been in there for hours," said Randy, "a few more minutes won't
kill me."

Marigold frowned, but left the room. Svetlana closed the door behind
her.

"Thule," said Randy, "things are not going to go as smoothly as I hoped.
But, this may be an opportunity. There's been a split in the family for a
long time, between the Dutch and the American branches. I think we can
reunite both, but you'll need to marry Tryne for that."

Thule scowled, "We can discuss that later. Let's get you patched up and
on your way to Amsterdam."

"We need to discuss it now," said Randy, "I saw you at the prom Friday.
I know how much you must really love Marigold. I can even see why. You
need to break that off before it goes any farther or you'll never want to
marry anyone else." As he spoke, he looked at Svetlana, whose eyes were
starting to mist up.

"If you marry Tryne," said Randy, "I can build alliances in Amsterdam. I
have friends there who want to see the family unified. With you and Tryne
in charge of the family here, we could do that."

"All right," said Thule, "I'll think about it."

"No," said Randy, taking Thule's wrist with the hand that didn't have a
gun, "promise me."

"All right," said Thule, "I promise. Now, let's get that bullet out of
you."

Thule opened the door, letting Marigold and Dawn back in. With Dawn
assisting, Marigold got set up so that she could work on the wound. As
Thule stepped back toward the doorway, Dawn backed up to rest against him
and whispered, "Why are we helping Randy?"

Thule hugged her from behind, "We're trying to keep him calm until the
FBI gets here. He's still got a gun and he's still dangerous. Besides, I
want him alive to testify against Ivan."

"We should let him die," said Dawn.

"That bullet won't kill him," said Thule, "not for a long, long time.
He'd get other help before it did."

Whatever Marigold was doing to him, Randy cried out in pain.

"Easy there," said Thule. He reached for Randy's gun, "You're going to
shoot somebody if you're not careful."

Randy pulled the gun away from Thule, "I need to protect myself."

Thule crouched down, looking concerned, "Do you want something for the
pain?"

Randy nodded, "Whatever you've got."

Thule crouched down in his closet, "I think I've got some...oh, wait. I
moved it. Hang on."

He came back in with a glass of dark rum and a bottle.

"Give me the bottle," said Randy.

"Start with the glass," said Thule, handing it to him, "I don't want you
so drunk that you can't defend yourself or run for it."

Randy nodded, "Good thinking. Always watching my back, aren't you,
buddy?" He drank down the glass of rum in three swallows.

"You know it," said Thule.

"Wow," said Randy, looking at the empty glass, "I must be hurt worse
than I thought or else this stuff is really..." A look of realization and
betrayal crossed his eyes. He slurred, "Hey, you..." Then, he yawned
hugely and was out cold, the gun slipping from his hand and thudding on the
floor.

Before anyone else could move, Svetlana crouched down and picked up the
pistol while pushing Randy's sweat-soaked hair back and kissing him on the
forehead, "My poor Randy," she said, "He has had a very hard day."

"Thule," said Marigold, "hold him in place. I've almost got it."

Thule placed his hands on Randy's ribs and leg, holding him down.
Marigold worked a pair of tweezers into the wound, working something inside
back and forth. After a few tense minutes, the bullet came free with a
sucking sound, fresh red blood oozing out behind it.

Marigold waved Svetlana over, indicating a fresh pack of gauze she'd put
over the wound, "Hold that in place. If it soaks through, don't pull it
away. Just add another pack on top of it. Just, don't let it slip or
you'll undo all of the good you're doing." She put her hand on Randy's gun,
now in Svetlana's hand, "Let me take that. I'll keep an eye out while you
do that."

Svetlana looked to Thule, who smiled at her reassuringly. She let go of
the gun. Tears of relief were rolling down her face.

"Thank you both," said Svetlana, "I told Randy he could count on you."

A few minutes later, Thule heard a car pulling up outside and a door
slamming shut.

"Who is that?" Svetlana asked.

Dawn looked out the window, "Older woman, maybe early forties, short
blonde hair, navy blue suit."

"That sounds like Anne," said Thule, "Marigold, would you take over for
Sveta, please? She'll want to meet Anne."

Thule and Svetlana went out into the living room to meet Anne. Thule
let her in the front door before turning to Svetlana. When he turned, he
said, "Sveta, Anne is investigating the Vandevoorts. She'd like to talk to
you about some of Ivan's..."

Svetlana's face had gone white with rage. He hand flew up to slap
Thule. Thule caught her wrist. She reached up with the other hand,
slapping him on the as-yet unmarked side of his face. Then, she pulled
away and bolted for the back door.

"Much better," said Thule, rubbing his cheek. Anne looked like she was
going to give chase. He put a hand on her shoulder, "Let her go. I doubt
she's done anything you can hold her for and she might come around.
Randy's in the bedroom."

As they walked in, Marigold was taping fresh gauze onto the wound.

"Is he...?" Anne asked, hand flying to her mouth.

"No," said Thule, "he's unconscious. I gave him a cocktail of rum and
Rohypnol. We'll want to get him to a doctor soon, though. I couldn't
afford to be too subtle with the dosage. If you take him to a doctor in
the area, there's a chance you could get him killed. Is there a staff
physician at the field office in New York?" Anne nodded.

"Great," said Thule, "that will get him out of danger and give me time
to get what I need to do done before anyone is the wiser. He may come to
before you get there, though. What are you driving?"

"My minivan," said Anne, "I came straight from home."

"All right," said Thule, "we'll have to secure him there. He might wake
up between here and there. Take his gun in case...Where's his gun?"

Marigold looked around, "I must have put it down when I was working on
his wound. I guess Svetlana picked it up."

"Well," said Thule, "at least she didn't shoot me. We'll just have to
make sure he's well secured. Marigold, is he ready to travel?"

Marigold nodded, "as ready as I can make him."

Thule carried Randy out to Anne's minivan. With Dawn and Marigold's
help, he secured Randy's legs to the back seat. Dawn took out her borrowed
handcuffs and secured Randy's wrists to the other side of the seat before
handing Anne the keys.

"Try to bring those back if you can," she told Anne, "I may still have a
use for them."

"Maybe I should wait for Anders," said Anne uncertainly.

"I don't know how long Randy is going to stay out," said Thule. "You'll
want to get moving. Besides, I need you to do this for me, Anne. If
Anders isn't here when you leave, he can't give you any orders you'd have
to disobey in order to help me."

Anne looked like she was going to say something. Thule said, "I know
you want to help me or you wouldn't be here. I'd rather it didn't cost
your job."

Anne shook her head, "Thank you, Thule, but I'm pretty sure none of us,
with the possible exception of Matika, are going to have jobs after this,
one way or another. I know John and Helene are ready to follow you to the
gates of hell and I suppose that I am, too. Just tell me what you want and
I'll tell them."

Thule nodded, "You have no idea how much I appreciate that. Tell them I
expect to move tonight and to be ready. I'll talk to Anders, but I doubt
he'll be amenable to working with me."

Anne nodded, "I suspect you're right. He's very 'by the book.' I'll let
the others know." She kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his hair as best
she could before getting into her van and driving off.

While he was still standing on the lawn, Thule's phone rang. It was
Matika.

"Thule," she said unevenly, "I need help."

"Where are you?" asked Thule.

"I'm not sure," said Matika, "one of Ivan's goons took a shot at me as I
was coming down from the blind. I think I got him, but I also think I
broke my ankle when I fell. I'm in a lot of pain and not sure how long I'm
going to stay conscious this time."

"What do you see around you?"

Matika paused long enough that Thule thought she might have passed out.
Then, she began to describe the scene. When she mentioned a stream, Thule
interrupted her, "I know where you are. Stay put and call Anders."

"Thule, I'm sorry," said Matika, "I called Anders first. He told me to
call you, since you probably know the terrain better."

"No, you did the right thing," said Thule. "Hang tight. I'll be there
as soon as I can. Give me Anders's number."

She recited it. Thule repeated it back to her for confirmation. Then,
he said, "I need to get off the line for a few minutes. Will you be okay?"

Matika gave a pained chuckle, "Thule, I am an FBI field agent. I'll
manage."

"Okay," said Thule, "hang tight."

Thule went into the house, quickly explaining where he was going as he
changed into black clothes.

"Dawn," he said, "call Jake. Make sure he can speak freely before you
say too much. Ask him to come down here and bring guns for you two if he
can."

Dawn nodded. Thule took her and Marigold into his arms and kissed them
both.

"Leave the bed the way it is," said Thule, "Don't wash or destroy the
bedspread. I'm going to be using it to add credibility tonight. Once Jake
is here, go to town and buy a half dozen bags of ice. I'll be back as soon
as I can.

In his car on the way over, Thule dialed the number Matika had given
him.

"Agent Harter," said Anders when he answered the phone.

"Agent Harter, this is Thule Roemer. I'm on my way to where your
partner is. How close are you?"

"I'm in Mannsborough, headed towards the Vandevoort estate," said
Anders, "But, I have no idea where the fuck I'm going."

Thule described the route Anders needs to take. Anders said, "Got it.
What the fuck was she doing out in the middle of the woods anyway?"

"There's a platform I built out there that has a clear view of the
Vandevoort estate. She was watching the estate."

Thule heard Anders give a sharp intake of breath. When he spoke, it was
obvious that he was trying to control his anger. He said evenly, "Kid, if
anything happens to her, you'll regret it."

"I don't need you to tell me that, Agent Harter," said Thule, "You'll
want to be careful out in those woods. They're probably still crawling
with Vil Umanski's men."

"And I don't need you to tell me how to do my job, Mr. Roemer," Anders
said, breaking the connection.

"Prick," said Thule before putting his phone back.

By the time he reached the pull-off, there were already two cars there.
He hoped they were Matika and Anders's. Drawing his gun out of his
waistline, he clicked the safety off and headed to the platform at a trot.

As he neared the tree, he saw a figure in black lying supine on the
path. A quick glance made checking for a pulse unnecessary. The man had an
absurdly-neat bullet hole in his forehead and a look of surprise on his
face. Bracing himself, Thule took the M-16 from the man's grip and the
pistol from his holster. Slinging the automatic rifle over his back, he
kept one pistol in each hand as he moved up the path. When he reached
where he expected Matika to be, he saw another figure in black crouched by
a rock.

Thule dropped into firing position, "Freeze," he shouted, "flat on the
ground."

"Pick one, kid," said the figure in black, "Personally, I'd rather
finish patching up my partner's ankle so we can get the hell out of here."

"Agent Harter," said Thule, "so nice to finally meet your back. We need
to get out of here. Our cars are at the most likely point of egress from
this part of the woods. Any team coming out is bound to see them."

Anders looked over his shoulder to say something, but interrupted the
thought, "Jesus Christ, kid. Were you going for Rambo or Chow Yung Fat and
do you even know how to use those things?"

"Some day, if we have time," said Thule, "I'll be happy to show you what
I know."

"All right," said Anders, "Now that you're here, I'm going to carry her
to the car, then. I'm trusting you to cover me."

Thule led the way back to the cars, vaguely disappointed that no one
came after them or took a shot. Driving out, he led them the slightly
longer way down the other side of the mountain and around to his house, so
that they wouldn't have to pass the Vandevoort estate again. By the time
they got to the house, Matika was conscious again and able to hobble inside
by leaning on Anders's shoulder.

"Whose car is that?" asked Anders.

"Jake's," said Thule. "He's an ally. I asked him to come by and
protect the girls."

"I don't think so," said Anders. "I saw that car outside of the
Vandevoort estate."

"I know," said Thule, "He also helped us set up the sting with Brianne.
He's on our side."

"You were involved in that?" asked Anders, standing upright. Matika
stumbled and almost fell before both men caught her and carried her the
rest of the way.

Inside, Jake was standing in the living room explaining some aspect of
firing a pistol. Marigold and Dawn both had pistols of their own and were
copying his action, meaning that all three were facing Thule's bedroom.

When the front door burst open, all three pivoted to face it, Jake
dropping into firing position.

"Jesus Christ," said Anders, "are you running some sort of apocalyptic
cult here?"

"I'll give you a pamphlet later," Thule deadpanned. He turned to
Matika, "Let's get you prone and get some blankets over you. I don't want
you going into shock."

Anders started to walk towards Thule's bedroom. Thule said, "No, not in
there. But, Anders had already seen something that interested him."

"Mother of God," he exclaimed, "did you butcher a pig in here?"

"No," said Thule, still standing in the middle of the living room,
supporting Matika, "that's Randy Vandevoort's blood." He led Matika into
Dawn's room.

Anders followed close behind, "What the fuck is going on here? If
that's Randy Vandevoort's blood, where the fuck is he?"

"He's on his way to your New York branch office," said Thule, "Anne is
taking him."

"Anne from legal?" asked Anders. "She was ordered..."

"She decided this was more important than her orders," said Thule
quietly.

Anders scowled at Thule as Marigold shouldered past him with the first
aid kit, "A lot of good people are going to lose their jobs because of you,
Roemer."

"I know," said Thule, sighing. "I didn't want it to work out like
this." He sat down on the opposite side of the bed from Matika, "Agent
Nazarov tells me you have a different idea for getting Vladi to tell us
where the bodies are buried. I'm willing to listen to what you have to
say."

Anders glared at him, "I would think it would be simple. Show him the
video you took. You've got him dead to rights. Grant him a deal if he
cooperates. We do it all the time."

"It won't work," said Matika from the bed.

Anders looked at her, "What? Why won't it work?"

"Something bothered me about it from the start," said Matika. "I talked
to Anne about it and we figured it out. Right now, we've got him maybe on
rape charges. But, without a body, we've got nothing else. He's a cop,
Anders. He's going to figure that out. Do you really think he's going to
turn over a bunch of bodies and expose himself to prosecution on multiple
murders in order to protect himself from a single count of rape? It just
doesn't make sense."

"Anne said this?" asked Anders.

Matika nodded, "Yes."

"We don't know there's more than one corpse or that this cop will take
Roemer to the same place," said Anders.

"I'm betting there are and he will," said Matika. "I can name at least
six girls I would bet my eye teeth are buried there."

"Shit," said Anders, "it makes sense. Now what?"

"Listen to Thule," said Matika. "His plan is a good one."

"No," said Anders. "It's too dangerous and puts too many civilians at
risk. The Bureau would never approve something like that."

"It's not a Bureau operation," said Thule. "I'm doing it with or
without your help. As soon as it gets dark, I'm calling Vladi. Once he
shows me where to bury Dawn, I'll call you with the GPS coordinates. You
can do what you want with them."

"Or," said Thule, standing face-to-face with the older man, "you can
arrest me now. Those are your choices."

"I have a better idea," said Matika. "You two can drop your pants and
we'll settle this with a ruler."

Marigold tried to turn her head so that Thule wouldn't see her laughing.
Thule unpuffed his chest and took a step back, "I'd like to have you
watching my back," he said quietly. "Matika says you have a lot of
experience with this sort of thing and really know what you're doing."

Anders glared at him for a few seconds, but couldn't maintain it.
"Fine," he growled. "Nobody I work with is going to have a job after this
anyway. Why should I? I can still retire with a seventy-five percent
pension if I have to. What do you need from me?"

"Hang on," said Thule, "I'll get my maps."

-=-

"Jesus Fucking Christ," shrieked Dawn from the bathroom.

"It sounds like she's being murdered in there," said Jake.

Thule shook his head, "They're just adding ice to the bath. She needs
to be cold when I show her to Vladi." As he spoke, he unfolded the area map
he'd brought out. There were two wide circles drawn centered on
Mannsborough. He said, "According to the timestamp on the camera, Vladi
left with June Kane at four oh five pm. He checks back in with dispatch at
eleven twenty. Assuming he didn't stop to have dinner with a dead girl in
his trunk and didn't want to risk speeding too much even in a squad car and
giving him one to two hours to dispose of the body, I figured out that his
destination should be within these two bands. Obviously, this is not an
exact science, but it should give us a rough idea of where we're headed."

Anders nodded. He didn't look impressed, but he had stopped scowling.

"Obviously," said Thule, "most of the circle can be ruled out because it
falls over water or crosses into Canada. Of what's left, I think this area
is the most likely." Thule pointed to the map.

"The Pine Barrens," said Matika. "That makes sense. There would be a
lot of places to hide a body down there."

"It seems a little too obvious," said Anders, frowning. "What about
upstate? They wouldn't have to cross state lines, then. It would be
safer."

"I considered upstate," said Thule. "But, it seems like there's a long
history of dumping bodies in New Jersey. I've never heard of anyone doing
it upstate. I had to pick some place that was more likely. I picked the
Pine Barrens."

Anders grunted noncommitally.

Thule ignored him, "I want you to head down to the northernmost point.
There's a town here called Keyes. Wait there for my call. Once I have the
coordinates, I'll let you know."

"What if it turns out that you're wrong?" said Anders. "If it turns out
to be upstate, I'll be at least six hours out of position."

"Well," said Thule, "if you think that upstate is more likely, head that
way. If it turns out to be New Jersey, you'll still be six hours out of
position."

Anders stared at the map. Making a decision, he said, "I'll get my team
in position in Keyes."

"Thank you," said Thule. "You might also want to consider calling John,
Anne, and Helene. They still want to help with this."

Anders looked at him, "I want to keep them in reserve. I'll take four
people from my team to Keyes. I'll leave two in New York with those three.
If it turns out you went upstate, they'll move in that direction while we
catch up and coordinate."

Thule considered protesting, but instead nodded, "Fair enough," he said,
"You should get moving. I'll call Vladi in about two hours."

Anders nodded. At the front door, he said, "Be careful, kid."

After he had closed the door, Thule turned to Matika, "If he calls me
'kid' one more time, I swear to God I'm going to shoot him."

Matika laughed, "Don't take it too personally. He still calls me kid,
too. I think it's meant affectionately."

"Maybe with you, it's meant affectionately," said Thule. "I'm pretty
sure he wants to take a swing at me."

"I doubt that," said Matika, "on account of the fact that you're still
standing. Anders is seriously by the book because any time he varies from
the script and has to make judgment calls, he becomes Mr. Poor Impulse
Control. There were a few times I was sure he was going to haul off and
clock you. You really know how to push your luck."

"That," said Thule, "is one of my few skills in which I have no doubt."

Marigold stuck her head out of the bedroom, "She's ready for the
make-up."

Thule nodded, "Jake, keep watch, please. Matika, if you could help us
apply the makeup, we can get this done faster."

In the bedroom, Dawn sat in her black bathrobe, wet and shivering.
Thule brought in a tub of blue body makeup.

"How are you doing?" asked Thule.

"F-f-freezing," said Dawn.

"I know," said Thule, "It's necessary, I'm afraid. I don't trust my
ability to make it look like I shot you. You need to look and feel
drowned."

"I know," said Dawn. She slid her robe off of her shoulders, "Let's get
the makeup on."

Thule took a double fingerful of the makeup and ran it up Dawn's belly,
pushing her down so that she lay flat on her back.

"Don't be shy," said Thule. "I don't need this thing going wrong
because we were afraid to apply makeup."

Matika looked down at her blue fingers, "Maybe I should let you two
apply the makeup and help Jake keep watch."

Dawn looked up at her, "Matika, time is really of the essence here. If
you're not comfortable, stay in the safe areas. But, we really need to get
this done."

Thule nodded. He was about to make a comment about how brave Dawn was
being when he noticed a devilish smirk on her face that Matika couldn't
see. He shook his head, chuckling. If Dawn could find some amusement in
this process, he wasn't going to stop her.

They were about a half hour into the application when Marigold said,
"We've got a problem."

Dawn looked up through half-lidded eyes, "What?"

Marigold said, "There's no way to do your belly button properly. If I
get the makeup down in there, it's going to irritate the hell out of your
piercing, maybe cause an infection."

"All right," said Thule, "There's nothing we can do for that. I'll just
have to cover her so that it doesn't show."

"What if Vladi decides he needs to see that part?" asked Dawn.

"Then, I'll have to shoot him," said Thule darkly.

Once the initial coat of makeup was applied, it was necessary to smooth
it in and even it out. There was no way to do it but through deep rubbing.
A few minutes after the three of them started rubbing, Dawn started
giggling.

Thule smiled, "Get it out of your system now. Giggling later would be
disasterous."

Dawn nodded. She giggled a while longer, but eventually quieted down.
Then, she started to gasp a little.

Dawn had been right. Time was of the essence. But, he still had to
say, "Matika, if you'd like to let Marigold and me finish this..."

"No," said Matika. "As long as it's okay with Dawn, I'll stay and
finish."

Dawn, who had started to writhe, nodded emphatically, eyes shining.

"All right," said Thule. He glared at Dawn with mock severity, "But, no
undulating for you."

"I'm just trying to get it out of my system," she said breathily.

Thule shook his head. In order to change the focus, he asked, "Matika,
something has been bothering me. Do you have any idea why those guys would
want to shoot at you? I mean, they're just supposed to be security guards.
Openly shooting an FBI agent generally wouldn't be Vil Umanski's style."

"I don't know," said Matika. "I wonder if they even were Vil Umanski's
men."

"Why do you say that?" asked Thule.

"Well, there were a lot of them," said Matika. "Even with the party, I
counted only eighteen security guards on the grounds. I counted at least
thirty of them leaving the estate while I was up the tree. Besides,
Umanski's guys drive around in those cars with the logos on them and wear
gray uniforms. These guys had unmarked cars and wore black."

Thule frowned, "Keep working on that makeup." He went into the living
room.

"Jake," he said, "do you know if Vil Umanski ever uses guys in unmarked
cars and black uniforms?"

Jake shook his head, "Nope. Those are the General's men."

"The General?" asked Thule.

"Russian guy," said Jake, "a relative of Jonas's, I think. He comes by
the house a lot, brings an entourage, like a rock star. I don't know what
he and Ivan talk about. They always speak Russian."

"What's his name?" asked Thule.

Jake shrugged, "I don't know. Everybody just calls him the General."

Thule was still contemplating the new mystery when Jake gasped, "Holy
fuck."

Thule turned around. Dawn was standing there in her black robe. Her
skin was bluish all over, her lips blue, her eyes sunken and dark, her hair
wet and bedraggled. Over her left eye, a realistic head wound had been
added with stage blood.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Dead," said Jake, "I'm going to have nightmares for a month from this."

"All right, folks," said Thule. "This is the zero hour. If anyone has
anything to add, now's the time. Otherwise, I want the three of you to
head to Jonas's house and wait there."

"Be careful," said Marigold. She went to hug Dawn, but Thule caught her
by the shoulder.

"It's better if nobody touch her at this point," he said. "We don't
want to smear anything."

Marigold nodded and hugged him fiercely, then kissed him twice as
fiercely on the mouth, "Give that to her for me once this is over."

Thule nodded. He turned to Jake, "I don't know what the hell's going on
in this town tonight, but it would take a huge weight off my mind if you'll
stay with Jonas and Marigold until I get back." He turned to Matika, "You,
too."

Jake nodded, "The wife is staying with family in Cambridge. So, I don't
even need to call anyone."

"Great," said Thule. "Get going, then."

They filed out, Marigold looking over her shoulder at them as she pulled
the door closed. Thule smiled reassuringly at her.

Alone, Thule turned to Dawn, "Go get your bathing suit on and we'll get
started."

"Why do I need a bathing suit?" asked Dawn.

"This is going to be uncomfortable enough without you having to be
naked," said Thule.

"But, why would I be wearing my bathing suit in the tub?" asked Dawn.

Thule shrugged, "I could have drowned you in the pool."

"Thule," said Dawn, "your pool is dry and, besides, I don't smell like
chlorine."

Thule sighed, "I'm packing a duffel bag with clothes, chemical hand and
foot warmers, flares, and a few other things you may need if you and I get
separated for any reason. In the top of that bag, I'm also packing a clear
rag and a bottle of chloroform. If you feel yourself starting to panic,
pour some in the rag, hide the bottle, then press the rag to your nose and
breathe deep. Try to focus on getting the rag away from your face before
you go unconscious. As much as you can, keep your mouth near the hole you
drilled."

"It broke my heart to drill that hole," said Dawn, "but I should be able
to putty it up pretty well after this is over."

Thule nodded, "That will be good."

"Well," said Dawn, "let's get this over with."

"We've got a few minutes, yet," said Thule. "I don't want to do this
until it's dark."

"Thule," asked Dawn, "are you scared?"

Thule shook his head, "No. I'm too numb to be scared right now. I'll
be scared later."

"Well," said Dawn, "I'm terrified."

"We can still call it off if..."

"No," said Dawn, "it needs to be done, doesn't it?"

"Yes," said Thule, "I guess it does."

"Well, then..." said Dawn.

"Dawn," said Thule quietly, "I want you to know that, whatever happens,
I love you."

Dawn lowered her head, "You're just saying that because I'm dead."

"No," said Thule, "I'm saying it because it's true."

Dawn grimaced in frustration, "It's so unfair of you to say that when I
can't cry or kiss you."

"I'm sorry," said Thule. "I just didn't know when I would get another
chance."

"Did you decide this just now?" asked Dawn quietly.

"No," said Thule, "I think I knew when Marigold asked me this weekend.
It wouldn't have been right to tell her before I told you."

"I love you too," said Dawn. She reached out and hugged him gently.

Thule nodded, hugging her back, "It's time to get in the trunk."

Dawn smiled, "The words every girl wants to hear."

In the garage, Thule put a duffel bag into the trunk. Then, he laid the
bloody bedspread inside. Dawn climbed in on top of it, letting Thule wrap
her up so that only her nose and eyes showed.

"Okay," said Thule, "from this point on, you're dead." Dawn did not
respond.

Thule picked up a hoe, wielded it, and shattered the single, bare
lightbulb, bathing the garage in darkness. Then, he went in the house.
Picking up his landline, he dialed the phone number Vladi had given him.

"Vladi," he said, sounding near hysteria, "fuck, man. I called Randy
and he said you could help me. I killed her man. I just meant to scare
her, oh shit."

Vladi said calmly, "It's all right. Who is this?"

"It's Thule," said Thule, panting. "Randy said you could help me."

"Maybe I can," said Vladi. "Tell me what happened."

"This girl, Dawn," said Thule, "I've been letting her live her for, you
know." He sniffed, "Well, tonight, she started talking crazy...said she'd
been spying on Randy and had some proof that he killed June Kane. I...I
got so mad, I drowned her. I just meant to scare her, but there was so
much blood..."

"All right," said Vladi. "I can help. Where is she now?"

"I...I put her in the trunk," said Thule. "She's in my car. I...I'm
home."

"All right," said Vladi again. "Just sit tight. I'll be there as soon
as I can."

"Thanks," said Thule, catching his breath. "I owe you big time, man. I
owe you my life."

Vladi laughed and Thule could hear the anticipation in the laughter. He
imagined the cop already had a favor in mind for when Thule could make good
the debt he was incurring. He said, "I'll be there in like ten minutes.
Don't worry about it, man. You called exactly the right man."

Thule hung up the phone. He allowed himself one satisfied smile before
painting the worry back on his face.

-=-

Vladi glanced at Dawn in the darkness for maybe a half second before
slamming the trunk shut. For how much he looked, she could have been fully
dressed and her makeup applied in ten minutes. Apparently, he was so
anxious to get Thule into his debt, it was making him incautious. Thule
frowned a little to himself. No one appreciated good craftmanship anymore.

Vladi said, "Do you know how to get to the Garden State Parkway from
here?"

"Yeah," said Thule, "yeah. I do."

"Okay," said Vladi. "Get on it going south. And, get comfortable.
We've got a long drive ahead of ourselves."

"How long?" asked Thule.

"Three hours if traffic is good," said Vladi. "Whatever you do, don't
speed. But, don't go too slow, either. How long has she been dead?"

"Less than an hour," said Thule.

"If we're lucky," said Vladi, "she won't start to stink too much before
we get there. When it's a little bit hotter or they've been dead for a
while, they smell like dead fish by the time we get there."

Thule was torn between letting the enormity of what Vladi had just
revealed go past and looking like he was deliberately not responding. He
decided to give a moderate response.

"You've done this before?" Thule asked.

Vladi nodded, "Yeah, once or twice. I'm kind of Randy's go to guy in
the force. Now that you're going to be his right hand man, I'm you're go
to guy, too."

Thule took out a cigarette with shaking fingers, "Well, you're a real
fucking life saver tonight."

Vladi shrugged, "I'm surprised you couldn't handle this yourself. A
resourceful guy like you, I would have thought you'd have a contingency
plan for this sort of thing."

Thule laughed nervously, "I'll have one next time. I just didn't expect
to have to kill anyone this soon."

"Tell me about it," said Vladi. "I was on the force like a week the
first time I had to make one of these trips."

Thule was amazed. He had hoped to draw Vladi out about this, but the
man was just spilling his guts unprompted. All Thule had to do was listen
and smoke cigarette after cigarette to represent his very real nervousness.

"Find some place to pull over," said Vladi after they had gotten off the
Parkway, off the interstate, and on to a county road, "I've got to drain
the lizard."

Thule said, "Sounds good. I want to get some more cigarettes, too."
About ten minutes later, he spotted a combination gas station, convenience
store, and bait shop. As he pulled in, he read the sign. It said, "Keyes
Gas and Go."

Thule tensed up a little. There was almost no town of Keyes to speak
of. Besides the Gas and Go, there was a post office and maybe a half-dozen
houses. He began to surreptitiously look around for any sign of FBI
agents. Seeing none, he stepped into the Gas and Go. There, sitting at the
counter and drinking coffee, was Anders. He didn't even break in his
monologue with the cashier when he saw Thule walk in. He also gave no look
of recognition.

Of course, to Thule, Anders looked every inch the FBI man--tall, crew
cut, black pants, t-shirt, and vest, black aviator sunglasses. Thule
wanted to scream at him to get away from the place. Instead, he walked
calmly back to the bait section and picked out a styrofoam cup full of live
minnows. Then, he went to the front counter, bought two packs of
cigarettes and the bait.

Once he got back to the car, he drained the water from the minnows and
tossed the cup on the floor behind his seat. Reaching around, he shoved
the cup out of sight.

When he looked up, Vladi was coming back from the bathroom at a trot.

"Drive," said Vladi. "Be casual about it, but get us out of here."

Thule drove out of the parking lot. Once he was about a mile away, he
said, "What's up?"

"I ran into a cop back there," said Vladi, "a real ball buster, local
guy. Thinks he's king shit. Gave me a real hard time last year. I didn't
want to give him any excuses to make trouble today. Besides," he sniffed
the air, "that girl's starting to stink. I didn't want anybody to catch
wind of it and start asking questions."

After another twenty minutes, there was nothing to see on either side of
the road but trees. Vladi said, "We're coming to a side street soon. It
doesn't have a name, but it's paved. It'll be on your left."

Thule found it, turning onto it. For about ten minutes, it went uphill.
There were a few dilapidated houses that no one had bothered to board up
out here. A few had collapsed. More seemed to be held up solely by the
kudzu that had grown up over them. As the road topped out and started on a
decline, the houses disappeared all together as did the paving.

"Turn left here," said Vladi.

"Where?" asked Thule. "There's no road."

Vladi pointed, "between those two trees."

Thule turned, driving slowly now. There was no road, only two old ruts
surrounded by greenery. The only sound was the car's engine and the
distant chirp of cicadas.

"Take it slow," said Vladi. Thule didn't know how he could take it any
slower and not stall. Then, all of a sudden, he saw what the caution was
about. He was on the edge of a deep precipice. He gasped and hit the
brakes.

"Turn right," said Vladi. "There's an old service road that leads down
into the quarry."

Thule now saw that this was, indeed, a quarry. As he found the steep
road down, he could see that there was a huge pit, the bottom of which was
filled with murky, brownish red water so wide that he almost couldn't see
the other side.

"What the hell is this place?" he asked.

"Strip mine," said Vladi. "It's one of the oldest properties in the
Vandevoort portfolio. They bought it back in the 1800s for pig iron. It
ran out in the 1930s. That water's like a thousand feet deep. You could
kill the whole town of Mannsborough, sink them in there, and no one would
be the wiser."

"How many bodies do you think are down there?" asked Thule.

Vladi shrugged, "Dozens. This is my ninth trip here and they were using
it before I joined the force. Plus, we're not the only ones who use it."

"We're not?" asked Thule.

"No," said Vladi. "Ivan has friends that occasionally need to make
things disappear. We've got the bottomless quarry. It's a match made in
heaven."

As they got to the bottom, Vladi got out of the car. As Thule fumbled
to unlock the trunk, he asked, "So, what do we do?"

Vladi said, "We weigh her down with rocks and drop her in."

Thule reached past Vladi, pulling the shovel out of the trunk, "So, I
guess I won't need this."

Mentioning the shovel was a mistake. Vladi turned to see what Thule was
talking about just as Thule swung it around. It should have hit him
solidly in the back of the head. Instead, it struck a glancing blow off
the side. Cursing, Vladi reeled backwards.

Thule reached for his gun, but Vladi was faster, pulling his clear of
the holster before Thule could get his out. He screamed, "Drop it,
motherfucker."

Thule dropped his gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw
motion from the trunk. Knowing he had just seconds before Vladi shot him,
he fell to his knees. Vladi tracked him with the gun.

"Please," Thule blubbered, "please don't kill me. I didn't mean it.
Please."

Vladi looked puzzled and disgusted for a second. Then, he raised his
pistol again. Thule threw himself at Vladi's feet, shrieking, "Please."
Vladi stepped back in alarm and disgust.

Thule looked up just in time to see Dawn rising like a naked, blue
avenging angel from the trunk, rag in hand. Her other arm wrapped around
Vladi's chest and she sank her teeth into his neck. Vladi shrieked and
tried to spin Dawn off, but she held on with hands and teeth.

Vladi fired his pistol, but it went wild. Thule went up on his knees
and, calling on all of his training in martial arts and unarmed combat,
punched Vladi in the nuts as hard as he could. The cop crumbled, but still
Dawn held on. Vladi was obviously woozy, but managed to slam back against
the car, finally dislodging Dawn and the chloroformed rag.

Thule punched him in the face. Vladi started to rise. Thule punched
him again. Dawn rolled under the car out of the way. Thule launched
himself, shoulder-first into the back bumper of the car, then grabbed Vladi
by the hair and slammed his head back against the car as hard as he could.
Vladi tried to get purchase on Thule's hair, but found none. Dawn darted
out from under the car far enough to sink her teeth into Vladi's wrist.
Vladi shouted in pain and dropped his gun. Dawn grabbed for it, but
succeeded only in sending it off into the sunken quarry with a skitter and
a plop.

In a rage, Vladi wrapped his arms around Thule's ribs, pinning one of
his arms. Thule dimly remembered now that Vladi had been on the wrestling
team in high school as he started to feel his sight start to black out from
lack of oxygen. Striking out desperately with his free arm, Thule managed
to find Vladi's eye by feel and drive his thumb deep into the socket.

Vladi roared in pain and rage, releasing Thule. As he staggered
backwards, Thule struck out with both hands, boxing the older man's ears.
Vladi staggered backwards.

Thule punched Vladi in the nose. Seemingly in slow motion, the man
tumbled backwards, landing head and shoulders over the edge of the quarry.
Thule leapt down on him, wrapping his hands around Vladi's neck. He
wondered idly why he'd never noticed before that Vladi had a neck like a
bull. He could barely get his hands around it.

Thule didn't need to choke the man, though. He just needed to get
Vladi's head under water. Then, he realized that he had badly
underestimated the distance from the edge of the quarry to the water's
surface. Even pushing Vladi as far as he would go, only the top of his
head was submerged. Thule drove the heel of one hand as hard as he could
into Vladi's chin, snapping his head back. Vladi had gotten his nightstick
out and was flailing ineffectually at Thule's back and shoulders with it,
unable to get a good angle.

Thule drove into Vladi's chin again and again, keeping the big man
stunned. It wasn't going to win him the fight, though. He doubted he
could break Vladi's neck, even if he had a tire iron.

"Thule," yelled Dawn. He looked up. She was holding the cross-shaped
lug wrench out to him. Thule reached out for it, barely catching hold as
Vladi bucked under him with a roar. Thule released his neck, letting his
head come up just as Thule brought the wrench down across his nose.

The first blow was awkward. Thule's hand was slick with sweat and he
barely had a grasp on one end of the wrench. The second blow was solid,
but Vladi bucked his hips, knocking Thule off-balance. Vladi started to
rise and Thule was falling backwards the third time he connected, a blow
made more out of desperation than technique. Vladi fell backwards, the
wrench sliding out of Thule's hand and following Vladi's gun into the water
below. Thule leapt up, turning to Dawn, "Where's my gun?"

"Under the car," said Dawn, "I couldn't reach it."

Thule reached into his pocket and handed her his keys, "Pull the car
forward."

Dawn took the keys, "Is he dead?"

"No," said Thule, "he's stunned. Go."

Far too soon, Thule saw Vladi shaking his head and starting to rise.
Cursing himself for packing the clothes on top, Thule dug through the
duffel bag he'd packed for Dawn, looking for the flare gun. With another
roar of rage, Vladi threw himself at Thule. If he hadn't roared, Thule
wouldn't have been able to leap out of the way. As it was, he barely did
so, sidestepping, spinning around and shoving Vladi with both hands in the
direction he wanted to go. Vladi ducked to avoid hitting his head on the
trunk. Thule reached up and slammed it down on him, once, twice, three
times before the car lurched forward, sending Vladi sprawling onto the hard
ground, right next to the now-exposed gun. Thule leapt, catching the gun
as Vladi caught his ankle.

"Lay flat!" screamed Thule, bringing the gun up to cover Vladi, "Lay
flat now!"

Vladi crouched to rise, ignoring Thule's instruction. Thule screamed
again, "On your belly, Vladi!"

Vladi launched himself at Thule. Thule fired at his head. The big man
stumbled backwards, a red hole appearing in his forehead. Then, he began
to sway forward. Thule lowered the gun to chest height and fired three
more shots into Vladi's chest. For a terrifying moment, Vladi stood
suspended in midair, the momentum of his forward charge and the bullets in
sickening equilibrium. Then, he crumbled to his knees and fell backwards.

Dawn came racing out of the car. Thule caught her in his arms, burying
her face in his chest. "Don't look," he whispered.

Dawn pulled away enough to look up at him. "Thule," she said quietly,
"do you think I'll have more nightmares if I do or if I don't see him?"

Thule nodded, turning her in his arms so that she faced away from him,
then turning himself so that he faced where Vladi lay.

The big man lay in a pool of blood, three fountains of it still pumping
slowly out of his chest. Thule's first shot had taken out the back of his
head. There would be no horror movie moment of the alleged corpse making
one last, desperate lunge at our hero. He was dead.

Thule put his face down on the top of Dawn's head and began to laugh.
It was a chuckle at first, but soon his whole body was shaking with it.
Dawn let it go on for a good minute before she asked, "What's so funny?"

Thule said, "The next time I have a plan where I say, 'I'll have to
subdue him,' and the guy's built like Frankenstein's monster, I would
appreciate if someone would point that out."

Dawn turned in his arms, tilted her head back, wrapped her own arms
around the back of his neck and kissed him. The lipstick Thule had put on
her tasted like synthetic blueberries.

"I love you, Thule."

"I love you too, Wildcat. And I now know why Jake calls you that."

When they parted, Thule said, "Get some clothes on and let's get out of
here."

Dawn went to the trunk, pulling out the duffel bag, "Before we do, we'll
need to change the driver's side tire in the front. It burst when I pulled
forward."

Thule groaned, "That's going to be a trick with the wrench at the bottom
of the quarry."

Dawn dressed quickly. Thule leaned down and tried to loosen the nuts by
hand, "I don't think they're going to budge."

"They won't," said Dawn, "I made sure they were on good and tight."

"Well," said Thule, "it is a lovely night for a walk in the woods."

Dawn nodded, pulling on Thule's flannel shirt, "After a long ride in the
trunk, it'll feel good to stretch my legs."

Thule cut the half of the bedspread that was not soaked in blood in half
again, wrapping one piece around Dawn and the other around himself.

"What's that smell?" Dawn asked.

Thule reached into the back seat of the car, extracting the styrofoam
cup of dead minnows, "That's you, I'm afraid." When Dawn looked at him,
puzzled, Thule added, "The one aspect of your being a corpse that I did not
consider was that you would start to stink at some point on this trip.
Vladi has apparently made this trip enough times to expect it."

Dawn looked out over the water, deceptively beautiful in the moonlight.
Thule could almost see her trying to guess how many bodies lay beneath its
surface. She wrapped the makeshift shawl tighter around herself, "Let's
get out of here."

Thule reached into the car, opening the glove compartment, and drawing
out his GPS tracker, a pen and paper. He stored the coordinates, then
wrote them down. It never hurt to be too careful.

They hiked up the steep quarry road, pausing at the top to catch their
breath. Thule also took the opportunity to change clips on his pistol.
Dawn had tucked the flare gun into the back of her own waistband.

"Still no signal on your phone?" asked Dawn.

Thule shook his head, "Coverage is kind of spotty in the pine barrens."

They walked in relative silence up to the dirt road and along its
length, empty houses watching them like hollow skulls. As they crested a
rise, Thule caught Dawn and pulled her back, having spotted the outline of
a van in the moonlight.

"Mr. Roemer," called Vil Umanski, "you can come out. My driver is
sound asleep and will not wake for some time."

Thule signaled to Dawn to stay behind the rise and stepped forward.

"You took longer than I expected," said Umanski, leaning heavily on his
cane. "Did Officer Yudin give you any trouble?"

"A little," said Thule. "The man is built like a bull."

"Good Cossack stock," agreed Umanski affably. "You are to be commended,
Mr. Roemer. Very few men have pulled the wool over my eyes as thoroughly
as you have. You never had any intention of helping Randy, did you?"

Thule shook his head, "No."

Umanski shook his head, chuckling, "I should have considered that
possibility more closely. I truly am becoming a foolish old man. Why all
of this, then? What did you accomplish?"

"A settling of old scores," said Thule.

Umanski shrugged, "Fair enough. I suppose it will all come out soon
enough. You will want to pull my driver out of the van, put on his cap
with my logo, and gray uniform tunic, of course. This will allow you to
get past my and the General's men. There are a fair number of them in
these woods by now."

"Why?" asked Thule.

"Because they are looking for you, Mr. Roemer," said Umanski. "You had
less than an hour's head start before the General and I figured out what
you were up to."

"No," said Thule. "I meant, why are you doing this for me?"

"If I could have stopped you, Mr. Roemer, I would have," said Umanski.
"But, you play with the pieces you have left on the board. And sometimes
to win, you must play without ego." He looked off into the distance, as if
he were done speaking, but then added, "The family will be much better off
with Tryne in charge. You didn't actually have any plans of marrying her,
did you?"

Thule shook his head, "No."

"A pity," said Umanski. "That would have been something. Mr. Roemer,
I would appreciate if you could hurry up a little and take me hostage. I
have a bit of trouble with my hip and it is starting to ache."

Thule went to the van, pulled the driver out, stripped him of tunic and
cap, and put them on. He turned to Vil Umanski, "How do I look?"

Umanski viewed Thule in the uniform that theoretically marked him as one
of Umanski's own employees, "Somewhere between a dream come true and my
worst nightmare, Mr. Roemer."

Thule signalled towards Dawn and called, "Dawn, you can come out now."

She emerged, keeping the flare gun pointed at Umanski.

"Young lady," said Umanski, "you should really get more sun. You do not
look well. I must say that I am relieved you are not actually deceased. I
was not certain Mr. Roemer would stop at murder to undo my employer."

Dawn ran to Thule, hugging him.

"Ah," said Umanski, "young love. Surely, it is the most destructive
force in the universe."

-=-

The van and the uniform got them past the General's men, who were
patrolling the area.

"Why don't they just go to the quarry?" Thule asked.

"I told them that I did not know where it was," said Umanski.

"Who are they?" asked Thule. "I've seen them before at the estate, but
I figured they were just another security detail."

"They are the General's men," said Umanski. "Before you ask, the
General is Major General Arkady Belov, formerly of the KGB. He does not
remember me, but he ordered my death almost fifty years ago. He is also an
ally of Ivan's and a high-ranking member of the Russian crime syndicate in
New York. He has far more bodies in that quarry than my employer does. I
am afraid that you have made yourself a powerful new enemy tonight. If you
ever decide you wish to be as thorough in dismantling his empire as you
have been with my employer's, I will be happy to provide whatever
assistance I can."

Thule laughed, "I thought you scoffed at the idea of settling old
scores."

Umanski's smile was almost friendly, "No, Mr. Roemer. I scoffed at the
idea you had any old scores. This score was old long before you were
born."

They were back in Keyes before Thule's cell phone started to get even a
weak signal. Pulling back into the Gas and Go, he got out and used the pay
phone, first to call Anders, then Marigold.

"Little flower," he told her, "Dawn and I are all right. It's over."

Marigold asked a number of hurried questions so that Thule could
reassure her that everything really was all right. Then, she asked to talk
to Dawn, who told her much the same thing.

"Thule," said Marigold, "hug and kiss Dawn for me, like you promised."

He did, pressed tight together with her in the phone booth. The kiss
was intense and somber, at least until Dawn started giggling.

-=-

More people descended on Keyes in the next few weeks than had in its
entire history. First came the FBI agents, then the reporters, followed
quickly by the curiosity-seekers. Mannsborough underwent similar scrutiny.
For the next two weeks, the story was the only thing on TV. Despite the
fact that none of the principles were talking to the press, the coverage
was relentless. Jonas wound up hiring a public relations team to give the
press something to focus on and everyone else some small measure of peace
and quiet.

In addition to press, Mannsborough also swarmed with state police, now.
Practically the entire local police force was indicted on conspiracy
charges. With the evidence that Thule had provided, the indictments seemed
to come in a near-infinite stream.

After two weeks, a baby fell down a well in the midwest and the
reporters, for the most part, decamped from Mannsborough. The story
wouldn't die, however, as more corpses were found and identified in the
quarry.

As much as possible, Thule, Marigold, and Dawn kept their heads down,
focused on preparing for finals and graduation. Marigold spent as many
nights at Thule's house as she did at her own.

One night, three weeks after the events in the quarry and in the middle
of finals, Matika showed up driving Thule's car. Whatever the forensics
teams had to do had been done and someone had even provided a new tire.
Dawn and Thule both came out to hug Matika, although Dawn did it with her
eyes firmly pla

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2004-07-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

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2004-07-26T15:38:00.000-07:00

Stepsister

H. Jekyll

MF, cons, bdsm, oral (videotape); mg reluct, mast

2002 by H. Jekyll. Permission is freely granted
to post on any site that does not charge for entrance, as
long as proper attribution is given. The story should not
be read by anyone under the legal age to read sexually
explicit stories, or by anyone in a location where it is
illegal to read such stories.

Please send comments, inquiries, requests, and criticisms
to: hjekyll2000. I do enjoy correspondence.

Is it because he's seventeen and afflicted with raging
erections? How often does he masturbate? He's counted up to
seven in a day, and he does it at least once every single
day. Sex is everything, the only thing he wants to think
about, the driving drive. He fantasizes about every woman
he sees, every starlet, every girl in school, his teachers.

His real life experiences with another person aren't
numerous but his fantasies, oh my God, are astounding, fed
with internet porn and produced by a mind that is sharper
than anyone else's he knows and highly motivated. They
include twisted things that he'd like to do, that he jacks-
off to over and over. Is that the reason?

Perhaps he wasn't socialized as well as other boys, so
doesn't repress the viler desires. Does being smarter help?
He can think of so many more things to do. Maybe he bears
an evil that was just born with him, that has always
existed. If so he hides it well. Everyone thinks he is such
a nice lad. They wouldn't believe that he could imagine
raping his stepmother and making her like it, or kidnapping
the head cheerleader and making her suck his dick all night
long.

Slow down your hand. Move it slowly. Stop when you get too
close. Imagine the sound of the belt. Imagine her crying.
Imagine her agreeing to do everything. Slowly. Slow down.
Oh hell I'm coming again!

Ah, that was good. Let's try for three in a row.

He knows he's dangerous, that there's a potential in him.
He's probably much more dangerous than most boys.

Maybe, though, just maybe he simply has more opportunity.
Maybe it's because he has an eleven year old stepsister who
adores him, who holds his hand and loves to snuggle against
him, who gets jealous of his dates, a prepubescent child
just barely developing breasts, who is oh-so-shy and too
inexperienced to know the limits of trust.

And maybe it's because he has parents who are idiots,
planning a six-week anniversary cruise, leaving him in
charge of the house and his sister for a very long time.
Ever since he found out he has been setting the stage for
the weeks he'll have her alone.

His preparations began early, soon after his stepmother
took him aside to say they were going to celebrate their
fifth anniversary in the South Pacific, Hawaii, the
Galapagos, and that he would have a large responsibility
for one so young. That night he knew what he would do.

First there was the tape. It was important to prepare her
for the experience, to make her accept it. Yeah, yeah,
prepare her.

"Come on Sissy, while they're out. I'm going to show you
something secret that I found. You must never tell anyone
and you have to promise to watch the whole thing. Promise,
or I can't show you."

He had found the tape in their closet, high up and to the
back, inside a shoe box. There were five tapes in all, but
this was by far his favorite. Did they really think they
could hide them from him? Before he ever played any he knew
they would be good, because of the secrecy, and he was
right. It gave him a new, deep appreciation of his father
and vast fantasies about his stepmother.

"Sit quietly. Remember, you have to stay through the whole
thing. Do you promise?"

The room was dark, the only light coming from the TV and a
little more from the hall bathroom. They sat close to each
other as he touched the remote. She wanted as much contact
as possible. Little currents of lightness moved in her
chest because it would be something forbidden that she
would share with him. She didn't know the half of it.

As the tape started she curled up against him, but she soon
looked away and tried to end the body contact. He held her.

"No. You promised."

The first scene is jumpy, the work of someone who is just
learning the equipment. Her mother is sitting on the edge
of their bed, naked. She is a lovely woman with a slight
bulge in her belly that doesn't detract at all from what
happens, with breasts that droop a little as womanly
breasts should.

His father steps into the scene from the direction of the
camera. One can see him only from knees to chest. He is
naked, with a curved erection that soars from a mat of
unkempt, dark hair. His ass partially blocks the scene as
her mother leans down to grasp his prick and take it to her
mouth.

There is more. As the tape starts she is looking at the
camera, looking apprehensively. How did he get her to
agree? Did he show her others' tapes, maybe the Pamela
Anderson tape? She looks to the camera, then up to his
face, away from his penis. Finally down to it. One last
look at the camera, then she looks directly at the penis.
She takes it in her hand, holding it just below the head,
like a chicken held by the neck, opens her mouth and slides
her lips over it.

At this point the watching daughter made a low sound like
"ohh," like a quiet moan that lasted for two or three
seconds, and she tried to move for the first time.

The mother's face has the classic blow job look, her jaw
open wide to let her fit over the meat, her eyes aimed down
onto her husband's shaft so hard they almost cross. Then
her eyes close almost completely, her lips protrude
slightly outward and form an 'O' around the back of the
head, and her cheeks go concave. While she sucks on it she
jacks the penis into her mouth, not too fast and not too
deeply.

The daughter said: "We shouldn't be doing this."

"You promised. You have to trust me. This is what men and
women do to each other, and they love it. That's why they
filmed it. Someday they would show it to you themselves, so
you could learn what to do."

He knew he was a lying bastard and he loved it.

On the tape his father has put his hands on her mother's
head and has started making grunting noises. He says "I'm
close. Get ready." Then he pulls out of her mouth and
points his dick at her. A ropy spray of semen shoots
between them and hits her just below the notch at the top
of her chest, just above her breasts. Two, three good
squirts before the force is gone and it dribbles out.

"Now rub it in," he tells her, "rub the tit lotion in
good."

She takes both hands and smears the mess onto her breasts,
rubbing in circular motions until the semen is invisible to
the camera. The scene ends, leaving a dark screen.

"Oh they couldn't like that! Let me go!"

She meant her mother couldn't like it.

He held her tightly, both arms around her, holding her
still.

"Sis, you're going to stay until I say you can go. You
think she doesn't like it? Well watch the next part."

In the next scene the camera is on as the two get to the
bed, again already naked. This time the mother doesn't look
to the camera. The two kneel facing each other and give
luscious kisses. The camera focuses on their faces, on
their mouths. When the boy first saw the scene he thought
someone else was with them in the room, but then he saw the
control device in his father's hand, and saw his father
glance to the side every so often, to what he could finally
tell was a monitor.

"Damn," he thought, "he's controlling the camera during
sex."

The couple on the screen nibble on each others' nipples.
She bends to take his penis into her mouth again, but then
he pushes her back and pulls her legs open. His head goes
between them. He says:

"You sweet bitch. I'm going to film you coming and make you
watch yourself doing it."

"Oh you bastard." She gasps as he does something to her
vagina. "God I love you. Not so hard. Oh please. God,
you're evil. Yes, like that. Yes!"

True to his word, the camera focuses on her face, from the
side catching her half-closed eyes - mere slit shapes on
her face - and her slightly open mouth. She keeps making
little gasping grunts. The camera, though, pans down from
her face to her body, so that one can see it jerking and
undulating. Her hands are fidgeting, moving around and
grabbing sheets. Finally the camera gets down to her cunt,
to focus on his mouth buried in her. She is moving her cunt
against his face. In the middle of this he glances at the
monitor.

The camera then pans back up toward her face, moving with
dreadful slowness as her breathing gets faster and her
grunts take on a higher pitch. It gets to her face before
she comes, showing a vein standing out on her now red and
sweaty forehead. Her face is all scrunched up but her mouth
is open wide. Then her head goes back and she cries out in
a higher pitch, in the same rhythm as her grunts, saying,

"Oh God, oh God, oh God!"

When he first saw this the boy had thought: why haven't I
ever heard them doing it? He paused the tape.

During the second part the girl stopped struggling and
stared at the screen. Once it ended her stepbrother
carefully loosened his hold on her and placed her beside
him. She didn't move; neither would she look at him.

"Let's talk. Those are some of the things adults do when
they're having sex. Did you understand it?"

She nodded, but she didn't know what to think. She was
embarrassed to have seen that with him, but she was so
infatuated that she didn't want to leave. She'd stay for
him. She had had a young girl's fantasies about him, had
imagined him kissing her but hadn't ever really imagined a
sex scene. She didn't know exactly what such a scene would
be like, exactly what they would do, except that they would
be naked and he would put his penis in her. Those things on
the film were so disgusting and so intense that she didn't
know what to make of them. Could grown ups really do that?
But she saw it!

"What parts about it didn't you understand?"

In a minute she asked, her voice weak and tremulous:

"When Mommy said 'Oh God, Oh God' - was she having an
orgasm?"

"Yes. That's what most women do when they come. Do you know
what "come" means?"

She nodded. She still wouldn't look at him. "We learned
about orgasms in school. About different words. But it
looked like she was crying. Why was she doing that?"

"Because when men do things to women it feels so good that
it's more than the women can stand. Sometimes they even
scream because it feels so good. They can't help
themselves."

"Why didn't he scream too?"

What answer to give, to plant the seed?

"Men enjoy being in control. It's natural. And women like
men to be in control. You saw what he made her do, and how
much she liked it."

She was silent. She wondered how it would be when she
finally had sex, if it would be like on the screen and if
she would cry out. She would, and soon.

"What else didn't you understand?"

"Well, I thought, I thought . . ." She stopped to figure
out how to word it. "I thought that when a man, uh, uh,
came, he did it in the woman's vagina, to make a baby. Why
did he do it on her, uh, uh, uh chest?"

It was hard for her to talk with him about that. She
couldn't remember ever seeing a penis before, certainly not
an erect one. Now she couldn't shake the image of that
ugly, dark, reddish thing in her mother's mouth, or of it
spraying her breasts. How could she put it in her mouth?

"He could have come in her vagina, but men like to come
lots of places, and when he made her rub his sperm on her
boobs he liked it more."

"Oh."

"Now we're going to watch the rest of it. There isn't that
much more. You're not going to try to get away again, are
you?"

She looked down and said "no" in a tiny voice. They sat
back and he restarted the tape. He made her sit right up
against him. This one would be intense, and he didn't want
her to have a chance.

Her mother is tied spread-eagled to the bed as the scene
begins. It is a large, mahogany, sleigh bed with a lovely
wrought-iron filigree pattern that is visible at the
headboard. His father must be holding the camera. It pans
over her, showing her entire body, then focusing on her
torso or face or the ropes on her wrists. She is again
naked.

She is speaking. At first it is hard to hear her because of
some bumping noises but then her voice comes through.

"Please let me go, sweetheart. I promise I won't do it
again. I know I was wrong."

She sounds unhappy.

"It isn't that easy."

He places the camera on something so that it is filming
downward at her. Then he continues:

"I can't let you violate your discipline like that, and I
won't be a pussy and just let you off."

His hand appears, and caresses her stomach. Then it moves
down to her spread vagina and caresses her there for some
time while they talk. She is pleading and bargaining, while
he is being firm about whatever the topic is.

"Here, have another glass of water."

"No. Please don't. I really have to go. I don't know how
long I can hold it."

"I said drink! And I don't want you spilling any, unless
you want it to go hard!"

He holds a full glass to her mouth and she drinks it slowly
down, stopping twice to breathe. Then he returns to
caressing her sex.

"Please honey, I really have to go now."

"You're all wet here. You've gotten hot, haven't you?"

"No. I don't know. Please let me go. You can tie me up
again when I'm finished. I'll do everything you want,
darling. I'll be obedient. You'll be proud of me. But I
have to pee right now. I really do. I'll wet the bed."

"You're so hot, holding that in for me. I bet you'd like me
to fuck you right now, wouldn't you?"

He is pushing the fingers of one hand up into her vagina
and pulling softly on her vaginal lips with the other hand.

"Oh please! Don't do this to me. Please!"

"If you wet the bed I'll have to be severe with you. Can't
even hold a little water. Holding it in is making you more
excited, isn't it? Knowing you might get punished if you
can't show discipline is thrilling you."

"Sweetheart, I don't think I can hold it. I'm not
pretending! Please!"

He leans on her lower belly with both hands and she cries
hoarsely. For the first time he is entirely visible, and he
is naked a well. His erection is much larger than before.

"Oh, you have plenty of room in you still. Why don't you
beg me to fuck you? The way you are now, you'll pop like a
firecracker. Do it. Beg. Afterwards, we'll see about your
bladder fixation."

"Please fuck me, Honey. Oh please. But hurry. Hurry! Oh
God!"

"Admit that you're my little slut, my little fuck toy."

"I am. Oh please Honey, fuck your little slut quickly."

He enters her, fucking in and out, not hurrying at all. He
has the camera pan to her face and it is clear she is
caught between desire and something else. Her swollen eyes
are half closed, then snap open, then close again. Her
moans are harsh and she thrashes her head back and forth.

After a few moments it is clearly a tie between the desire
and the something else. She says "Please Honey, please no,"
but does so in the ragged pattern of someone close to
eruption. His grunts, much lower, can be heard on the tape,
but only just barely. They remain as a kind of
counterpoint, while her cries rise in volume and pitch, but
with those same words repeated over and over,

"Oh please darling, no, please, no please no ...!"

Then she is over the top, crying away, and he is obviously
coming, too, and there is another sound, faint but clearly
there on the tape: a hiss, the sound of a thin stream of
liquid spraying onto something and splashing. She is
wetting the bed. Her crying out becomes mere crying right
in the middle. She sobs, spread across the bed with him
lying atop her. She tries to say something but is almost
incoherent, babbling:

"I'm sorry, Honey, I'm sorry. I couldn't stop it. Oh please
I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me. I didn't mean to do it. I
tried to hold it but I couldn't. I didn't mean to."

The girl on the couch said "Oh, Mommy," and put her face in
her hands. The boy told her she had to watch, and he pulled
her hands away. He said,

"If you don't do what you're told I'll punish you. In a
minute you'll see what a man can do to a women who isn't
obedient!"

Back on the screen, his father doesn't appear at all upset
by this turn with his wife.

"Well. Pissed all over me. That's the wettest I ever got
you, no? And you're so easy, too. Now, let's take a look at
things."

He rises and walks toward the camera, penis half dangling
and a couple lines of fluid running down his thighs. The
room rocks around while he picks up the camera, and then it
is pointing between her thighs, showing the bedding, darkly
wet in a rough fan shape out from her slit. There are
individual drops of fluid on her and some rivulets.

He pans up her body to her face and neck, which are very,
very red, especially so because the video camera over-
saturates the color. Her face is wet as well and she is
still crying, though more quietly. When the camera comes to
her face she turns away, trying to hide it.

"No! No, please not that. I can't stand for you to tape me
like this. Don't do this, please." She starts sobbing all
over again.

"Oh I'll film you all right. You'll get so hot when you see
yourself like this later, and so will I. Now look at the
camera. I'm going to have to punish you anyway, but if you
don't cooperate right now I'll have to be cruel."

So she turns her face to the camera and he takes a good
close up, showing the ugly, red-and-swollen look that comes
with heavy crying. She doesn't turn away again. Her actions
could almost have been scripted.

"It's almost as wet up her as down there," he says, jerking
the camera toward her sex. The room swirls and jerks while
he puts the camera back wherever it had been resting, so
that it is again pointing half-down at her.

There is a sound of things bumping, then he steps toward
her from the direction of the lens, holding a belt by the
buckle end.

"Let's get your punishment over with."

She just stares at the belt. The end is pointed and metal
tipped. Shiny. The buckle end is looped twice around his
fist to give him a good hold.

"I'm going to give you ten of the best, and you're going to
count them for me. Do you understand?"

She stares at the belt, her eyes wide. She doesn't say a
word, but nods.

Watching this from the couch the little girl said "No, he
can't do that," and the boy told her to be still. Whatever
happens already happened. She can't change it. Then the
girl sat hunched over, with her hands near her eyes, but
she was afraid to try to cover them again.

"Let's start," says the husband. "Show your love to the
instrument of your correction."

The camera pans to her head again. Slowly, from the top of
the screen, the tip of the belt wriggles into view. She
looks up at it red faced, her mouth twisted in an anguish
looked. When the tip passes close to mouth she raises her
head and catches it in her lips. It is a tender grasp, as
one would capture a lover's lip while she moved her face
across yours. The girl's mother holds the tip while more
belt is lowered, until it begins to loop. Then she sucks
the tip into her mouth. The camera adjusts to present a
super close-up of her face.

More belt is fed to her, and she takes it in, alternately
sucking and using her lips. After a few seconds there is
more. She starts to consume this as well, but gags. She
turns her head to the side and makes a belching noise and
holds herself perfectly still. When she turns her head back
up her eyes are watering. She gags again, not as
forcefully, lies still for the moment, then looks toward
the boy's father with pleading in her eyes and shakes her
head in a tiny "no."

One can see her throat at the bottom of the screen. She is
swallowing repeatedly. When more belt is fed to her, she
makes a quiet sound of despair but eats it slowly. How much
has she in her mouth? More belt. Some more. Suddenly in
mid-swallow she heaves and, turning her head quickly away
from the camera, she loses the entire tangle of belt,
bathed in saliva and mucus. Nothing else comes out. Her
face is hidden, but her breasts rise and fall rapidly with
her breathing.

The girl scarcely moved watching all of this. It was as
though she'd forgotten the boy's presence. A hand went over
her mouth but her eyes never left the screen. Her world
changed right then, her view of it. The boy was busy
rubbing his prick through his jeans, up and down. He didn't
care if she saw him or not. He'd rather she did.

On the screen the boy's father is speaking.

"You're so lovely, my dear, and do try so hard to be
obedient. Let's get your punishment over with so that I can
make you happy again."

He changes the camera focus so that the girl's mother is
visible from her head to her vagina. He is visible only
intermittently, at the edge of the frame, but his penis
sometimes sticks out into the frame even when he is
otherwise not seen.

"Since it was your belly that wouldn't hold your water,
that's where I'm going to whip you."

His arm rises through the edge of the picture, so rapidly
that the belt is merely a blur, and then he brings it down
just as quickly. There is a loud pop, almost a snap, when
the belt lands. All her muscles tense and she bucks on the
bed. Her cry is strangely hoarse to one raised on Hollywood
fare, in which women have high pitched screams for all
occasions.

"Ohh, ohh. One. Oh please, please. Oh God."

God is nowhere to be seen, but her husband stands there
while she twists on the bed and her crying fades away. Once
she seems settled he whips her again, again a single
stroke. She manages to say "two" but her crying and
struggling are more frantic, more panicked, as though she
thinks she may not be able to make it to ten. She begs
between strokes, pleads, promises him the world if he will
stop. She will be so good to him.

The boy noticed that the camera could pick up the whip
marks on her belly. They were about an inch apart and
displayed the pointed shape of the belt's tip. A tiny bit
of blood was oozing from the very tip of one of them. He
showed this to his stepsister, who didn't want to look. She
was breathing fast and holding herself stiff and shaking.
He backed the tape up to show her, and when she saw it she
made a crying sound way back in her throat, but while her
eyes grew wet she didn't, at this time, cry.

At "seven" the wife forgets to count.

She is pulling and twisting, her face even redder than
before, her chest heaving and her mouth open in a massive
grimace while she pulls against her ropes, each of them,
then all of them at once. What one can hear is scattered
words, "no," and "please" and "stop" among the cries and
gasps.

"You're not submitting correctly, my dear," he says. His
face is now right over hers. "We're going to have to add
two strokes. Now let's begin again, with 'seven'."

She can still squeal. That she can do. She pleads some
more and then he whips her.

"Say it."

When he is done he turns out the light and leaves her.
There is the sound of a door closing. The camera stays on,
though, and she is still vaguely visible, crying, then
whimpering to herself for awhile, and then becoming still,
as though asleep. Finally the screen goes snowy.

The boy turned to his stepsister. She was afraid to look at
him, afraid for him to touch her, afraid to move away.

"Look at me."

Shyly, slowly she turned her eyes upward. Only her eyes. He
looked the same as always, the big brother she loved. Would
he do something terrible to her now? She waited for her
doom, trembling, hyperventilating. She was dizzy and the
world had passed through some portal into a place she
didn't recognize.

What he did was lean down and kiss her on the head. She
jerked when he began the movement, but he did nothing bad.
He said:

"There's one last scene. It'll start in a minute."

Sure enough there is suddenly a picture.

Her mother is on the bed, on her back but not bound. The
light is back on. His father is kissing her, a full open-
mouthed kiss. The camera catches their tongues stroking
each other. The fingers of a freed hand pass through his
hair and pull his head down to her. When he shifts his
weight one can see that her stomach is a mess, covered in
overlapping belt-width welts. The most prominent welts are
on the edges. In three spots the skin has been broken and
she has bled a little.

The wet bedding between her legs is visible as well, still
dark with her water.

The sound quality is worse than before. One has to listen
carefully. The mother first, is saying something like 'I
love you so much' and 'must look so terrible,' but the
father disagrees. His voice carries better.

"You're God's beautiful woman. I'll show you the tape
later. You'll see. Where you hate yourself the most, when
your eyes are red and swollen, you are the most erotic
creature. The whole world would want to fuck you, but only
I get to."

She holds him tightly, still holding his head to her. She
says "Show me Sweetheart. Let me see it."

"No. Not when you're high. I'll let you see it when you
need a spark. Not now."

He moves down to a breast and sucks the nipple into his
mouth. She makes a delightful whimper, a sexual one, and
continues to stroke his hair. Next the other nipple. He
looks up at her.

"You're salty, love. I'm going to clean you a little."

He moves his face to her stomach. He starts licking and
sucking on her welts.

"Unh! Oh darling, more softly please. Oh! Oh!"

His mouth is slow and loving, going over every line. He
spends extra time where she has bled. Her breathing
quickens and she begins to whimper all over again, but she
protests only when he hits an especially sensitive spot or
sucks especially hard, so there are occasional sounds of
"oh, softer darling, don't be so hard darling." She uses a
lot of "oh's." Her hands come down to the back of his head
to pull him into her soft belly, then jerk away from him
spastically to shake rigidly in the air, fingers splayed,
then come back to him.

When he is done with her stomach he moves to her vagina,
lying face-first on those urine-soaked sheets, and begins
eating her, still slowly and lovingly, working on her
labia, her clitoris, her slit, her cunt. There's no hurry,
though she tries to hurry him by pulling him to her harder.
Her breaths are fuller, richer, louder, and after a bit it
is clear that she is close. She pushes her sex at him but
he just keeps on at his own pace until anyone watching the
video can tell she is very close. Then he moves his mouth
right over her sex and begins sucking and she comes loudly.

The tape ends. The boy wondered why it ended before his
father got to fuck her.

There were just the two of them in the half-lit room, no
naked parents on the TV. The girl seemed dazed. She stared
at the blank screen, her head in a whirl, not knowing what
to do or say, wondering fearfully what he would do now.

"That's what they do. Wasn't it great?"

Silence.

"Well, wasn't it?"

"No."

"You liked the sexing. It was obvious."

"Well I didn't like him hurting her!" Now she felt a rage
she could express.

"Maybe not, but she did. You saw how sexed up she got
after he punished her."

"She couldn't like it."

"But she did. It makes her love him. You know how lovey-
dovey she's always being with him. She's always happy
around him. You know that."

Just as suddenly there was a hole in her emotions. What
happened to the rage? Where did it go? She knew he was
right, and the knowledge made her lose her way in this new
world.

"Maybe, though, maybe it only happened the one time."

"Uh-uh, Sissy, there are other tapes. He's always making
her do different things. I'll show them to you some other
time."

"I don't want to see them."

"You're just upset because you've never seen this stuff
before. I bet you've never even seen a hard-on, have you?"

Silence.

"Well, all men get them for sex. Like this."

He stood up directly in front of her and pulled open his
pants so that his prick danced back and forth in front of
her.

The world shifted again. She held herself against the back
of the couch as hard as she could. She held her breath. Her
eyes followed his dick, going back and forth like she was
being hypnotized. It occurred to her that she should
protest.

"Put it away! I don't want to see it!" She tried to look
away.

"Oh no you don't. You look now!" He used a forceful
voice. "And hold it in your hand. Do it!"

Finally she cried. Her face contorted and grew red, and
while she tried to control herself she couldn't stop a flow
of tears down her cheeks. At the same time she leaned
forward and put her right hand on him, to placate him. She
tried to grab him on the shaft exactly between the balls
and head, so that she wouldn't have to touch either, but
for a moment she couldn't bring herself to actually touch
it at all. Then she did touch it just barely, but jerked
her hand away because it felt so alien and hot. It was her
third attempt before she could make herself close her
fingers around it.

"I don't want to do this. Please don't make me." She wasn't
actually crying anymore, but you couldn't tell it from her
voice. He loved that she was begging.

"You hold it until I tell to let go. Good. Now, I'll let
you let go and I'll pull my pants back up, but on one
condition."

She couldn't look away from the cock in her hand, the
reddish head just above her thumb, the wrinkled testes, the
wild brown hair. Her hand was infinitely pale and smooth in
comparison.

Finally, "What is it?"

"That you take off your clothes and let me touch you
wherever I want to."

Again, she didn't respond. None of her circuits were
working just right. She looked at him blankly, before all
at once having comprehension. She shook, a great shudder,
then dropped her hand from him. She rose slowly from the
couch, eased around him to be sure not to touch him, and
took off her clothes.

There wasn't much, a t-shirt, shorts, and underwear. She
turned her head to the side and stripped them off as fast
as she could. Then he spoke again, in a different voice.

"I won't hurt you. Don't worry about that. And I won't make
you do anything to me. Not now. Look."

He pulled up and fastened his pants. It was hidden again.

"Now come here."

He took one of her hands and led her to the couch. He sat
and pulled her down to him. She didn't resist. She was like
a zombie. It was time to play with her.

So she lay in his arms and he began to pet her. He did it
like you would your cat. That's why they call it petting.
Like you would a cat, except there's so much more in it for
you. He petted her hairless body, moving the whole palm of
his hand up from her belly to her little tits, the nipples
that were starting to bloom far ahead of the rest of her.
Just pointy little things. Tits. He said the word to
himself.

He had moved his hand very softly up her front, after which
he moved it around over one nipple, then the other,
brushing their tops, almost scraping them with the palm,
making them get bigger and meatier. She looked at his hand
and held herself completely stiff.

He petted her downward, from her tits to her belly button
and on down to her little slit of a vagina. She was holding
her legs tightly together, so he moved the palm sides of
his fingers back and forth over her closed vagina. He
tickled her thighs, as far down as he could get his hand
without pressing, down to her knees and then back up to her
sex. His index finger moved up and down in her slit; no
other fingers.

She was still completely stiff, still staring at his hand,
but she had gotten flushed and she was panting. That could
mean any number of things.

"Open your legs up."

"No. I won't."

"The deal was I get to touch you anywhere I want. So do it,
or they find out about you and the videotape."

She looked almost ready to cry again. Her eyes were damp
and red and her lips were quivering. The rest of her fight
left her. She opened her legs a little, and when he used
his hands to push her open wide she didn't resist.

Now he could pet her right. He could move his hand
crosswise, from one knee, up her inner thigh to her sex as
lightly as he could, making sure to caress the entire sex,
then down the inner thigh to the other knee. Then back.
Over and over.

She began to feel pleasure. Not the transient pleasure that
comes from the touch, but the pleasure that stays, that
fades only slowly, and that makes one anticipate the next
stroke.

Even afraid, she hadn't lost the thrill in her bowels that
comes from doing something forbidden. Her beloved brother.
He hadn't hurt her, though she was still scared and
disturbed. Making her lie back in his arms, he was gentle
with his massaging and caressing. He gave her little
chills. Every time his hand crossed her slit she tensed,
but his touch was so very light, giving her a tiny bit of
sex pleasure. It came back again. Again. She felt stirring.
He did it again. He masturbated her softly, rhythmically,
initiating her to the pleasure, caressing more firmly over
time. Doing it repeatedly.

She didn't want to feel pleasure, not really, but he
brought it out. He made her get little thrills. In the
course of a few minutes she went from dread and fear to
expectation, to hope, even to impatience. She relaxed her
body. She let him lead and stopped trying to get in the
way. The fear was still there, but far in the background.

He changed his strokes, now going up and down on her sex,
brushing her clitoris on the way. Stroke down from her hood
to her ass. Use your whole hand. Keep doing it.

As small as she is it was no problem to pet her in one
stroke from her belly button all the way to her anus. Pet
her sweet, silky skin while she lies in your arms, your
hand caressing her, feeling nothing but female flesh and
peach fuzz, your hand never really leaving some part of her
sex.

She didn't know she wasn't stiff anymore, but knew that her
whole sex felt full and tight. She shaped herself more into
his body, watching his hand as intently as ever. If she'd
thought of looking in the mirror she'd have seen that her
face was red, especially her forehead. Her mouth was open a
little bit, to let her breath flow faster and suddenly she
made an "Ohhh" sound that went on for a bit, the pitch
changing as she breathed in and out. A little preliminary
cry. Then she began saying "Oh" only as she exhaled, again
and again. She widened her spread legs herself, still
gazing at his magic hand.

It was pure sex, nothing distant or pushed by fantasy, but
immersion in the pleasure and excitement for the first
time. Still he petted her and finally she spoke, sounding
like someone who has just finished a race.

"Don't. Don't do that anymore. You shouldn't do that. You
shouldn't do that to me."

How sweet it is when they become alarmed at their first
pleasuring.

He stopped, took his hand entirely off her sex and away
from her body. This would be good.

She looked at his hand, then to his face, then back. She
didn't know to ask for it, or what to do with these new
feelings and this force inside her body, so she stared back
and forth, a terrible questioning look in her child's eyes.

"Do you really want me to stop doing it?"

He was so engorged that his penis hurt from being trapped
in his pants with her lying across his lap.

There wasn't any response at all for a moment. Because the
room was quiet all either could hear was her breathing. She
looked away from him and he knew she was deciding to
commit. Oh you sweet little bitch. The things I'll do to
you.

When she finally looked at him she said "I don't know," but
she also nodded in that shy fashion of young girls. He put
a hand back on her, but not on her little pudendum. He
caressed her inflated nipples as before and said:

"Say it. Tell me what you want me to do."

Silence.

"Then we're done, if you can't say that one little thing."

"No. I'll do it."

Her face was so beautiful, so childlike but showing a
woman's desire. He hadn't been entirely sure that such a
little girl could be driven by sexual want.

"Ask sweetly."

"I can't say that."

"Then we're done."

"No. Okay. Okay. Okay, I'll ask it. Will you please touch
my vagina some more?"

"Do you know what I'm doing?"

She nodded.

"What's the word?"

She didn't understand.

"What's the word for what I'm doing to you?"

"I don't know."

"I'm masturbating you. Do you know that word?"

"Yes," and a nod. He trailed his hand back down to her sex
and pushed down through her slit with his thumb. She was
wet and slippery, something else he wasn't sure until then
that such a young girl could be. When his thumb glided
through her she gasped and made a squeak.

"Where did you learn that word?" He used the thumb again
and stared into her face as her eyes closed completely for
a second. His eyes were the first things she saw when she
opened hers again.

"Where did you learn that word? Tell me."

"It was in a book I got from the library. And some girls I
know talk about it sometimes."

"Have you done it to yourself?"

No, she hadn't.

The thumb again.

"You will. But it won't be as good as when a man does it to
you."

He took his hand off her sex, brushed in a tickling fashion
down the insides of her thighs, then back up to her
nipples, skirting her sex on the way.

"Sex isn't just men doing things to you, and not just doing
things you like either. It's like on the tape. You have to
do things back, even things you don't want to do at first,
and you have to let them do all kinds of things. Some of
the things men will do to you you won't like, but when
you're a good girl and you do what you're told, that's when
you get the most pleasure. It's natural."

As he said this her eyes scrolled up and to the left, so he
knew she was thinking about the tape, Mommy's mouth on
Daddy's penis, Mommy with penis cream on her breasts, Mommy
spread and whipped, caught up in her passion as Daddy did
something with his mouth to her vagina.

"And now you're going to learn how to kiss."

What was that? Of course she knew how to kiss. But of
course she knew nothing, only theory, her experiences being
only little pursed-lips kisses for her parents. He began to
teach her the real thing, how open mouths worked and what
tongues tasted like. While he did this he pushed two
fingers up into her vagina. He expected to find a barrier
but there was none, so he pushed his fingers all the way
in, fucking her with them.

He hand fucked her while he kissed her. He knew what was
coming but she didn't, not really, again only in theory, so
he watched her face while he kissed her to see it begin.
She was by now enslaved by what he was doing. She wouldn't
want it ever to end, but it did of course, and when it did
it caught her by surprise. She was already swept up in the
pleasure and excitement, but when her orgasm began she knew
just a second or two beforehand that something was
changing, then it rushed up and out of her. She arched her
back and went rigid and cried into his mouth, after which
she lay in his arms and felt it go on and on.

What would he do with her next? When she had finally
finished and lay there limply, looking up to him with that
awe that marks one's first knowledge of the real power of
sex, he had warned her to never, ever tell anyone, that she
would put them both in danger if she told. It might not be
very long before their parents returned, so he put her to
bed. He turned out her light and ran his hands over her
body, making a proprietary statement with them.

"The next time I'm going to make you do things too, Sissy.
Do you understand?"

"Uh-huh. I will. I promise." He knew she would.

"Don't mention this even to me. No one says anything at
all. I 'm in charge, understand?" She nodded. "When I
decide it's time I'll tell you what we're going to do, and
when."

He masturbated in the shower, spraying the drain with spurt
after spurt of cream at what he had done. He was planning a
future. He would teach her to suck, teach her to fuck. He
would teach her to accept ropes and blindfolds. Especially
he would teach her to submit.

In bed that night he jacked off again. He wanted to go
slowly to allow time for a fantasy of what he would do to
her. He caressed his penis with his left hand, softly
moving it from balls to head. He held his right hand to his
nose because he could still smell a little of her vagina on
his fingertips. What couldn't he do to her? He came again,
then went to sleep while playing the fantasy. Can we
describe the fantasy that so entranced him? It played for
him like a videotape.

You would see her breathing and movements in it. They could
be taken for those of a women caught up in passion. Her
breathing is fast, fast gulps of air followed by
exhalations that end with a sound, something subvocal,
perhaps a whimper, perhaps a grunt. Something high pitched
in any case, like a woman responding to sexual pleasure and
unable to control herself.

Other than her breathing she doesn't move except when he
hurts her. There's just the rapid shaking of her sweat-
covered chest and belly, sucking the air in and expelling
it. It is so beautiful to him. When he hurts her she moves,
but she is too tired to put much into it. All she can do is
writhe. Her vocalizations get louder and higher pitched,
but one could scarcely call them real cries. No extravagant
screams, no jerking or flailing, no begging. She already
knows that she can't beg or plead, or apologize. Her job
now is to take it, but she can't. All she can do is breath.

It is a super close-up. He is right up against her, between
hurts caressing her all over her body, kissing her neck and
face, licking and nuzzling her. It is so intimate. He
whispers in her ear, soothing words, low and soft.

"You're so beautiful. You don't know how much more
beautiful you've become since you decided to be obedient.
My sweet, obedient bitch." His voice is breathy.

It is better than videotape. You can see inside her mind.
She feels his mouth moving against her ear. She is tiny and
helpless. Less than helpless. She is nothing and he is
omnipotent. All her attention is on him, on his hands
running so softly over her nipples and thighs, and
especially on his lips moving against her ear. Her aches
and hurt and terror and overwhelming exhaustion are
background elements. He stands out above them.

"You're finding out, aren't you? That I'm the center of
everything for you, aren't you Sis. You listen to
everything I say and you'll do everything I tell you,
right?"

How does he know? He knows everything of course. During
this the camera in his head pulls back so that you can see
all of her. She continues her fast, ragged gulps and her
whimpers. Her chest rises and falls, rises and falls, like
that of a middle distance runner.

"You'll be very, very good, won't you?"

She tries to nod, to let him know she agrees. But of course
he already knows, doesn't he?

"Now it's time to continue your punishment, you sweet
thing."

He ignores the change in her vocalizations, the raised
timber, the despair. He puts a long pin through the ring
holding her mouth open, to her upper gum, over her front
teeth, and gives a strong push. She writhes again, moving
sinuously, like a lovely sea creature, a mermaid under
water, and her heightened cries are like those of a woman
experiencing orgasm. He pushes the pin hard for several
seconds, pulls it back slightly to move to another spot,
pushes again, does it again. She can't even keep the cries
going and by the time he is done with this round her
writhing has diminished greatly. He steps away, puts down
the pin, then resumes caressing her body and whispering
soothing words to her. Her chest rises and falls, rises and
falls, and always her breaths end with a whimper.

The screen goes blank.

He slept beautifully. The next morning he even had
breakfast with his parents and joked with his step mom,
while she cooked, about how much she'd miss fixing him
meals while on her trip. His stepsister sat next to him at
the table, her face in the Sunday funnies, and didn't say
two words to anyone.

End.